Life will end when
the man in front of us
will walk no more,
and so we turn away.
Shuffle along the silent floor
Settle into the silent seat
Now there comes the flickering.
Track the shadow across the wall.
The lion stares with indifference.
Because we have seen him before.
Across mud cracked plains
Backwards walking
In our dreams.
Lonesome hunter
stands possessed
like a rock,
By something beyond experience
And cannot even spit.
Pray that no one ever returns
To this place,
where lamentation runs across the valley
jubilant at our misery.
One shot for our greatest ambition.
Spring will never return
like this again.
No matter.
What
We
Stuff.
The skin hangs.
Teeth once white as tusks
Gone.
Slitted eyes can no longer
Open or close,
open or close,
willingly.
mouth like a lost sea.
tongue like a lost creature.
drowned
Every meal ends cruelly.
The elephant king is dead.
Culled
Stuffed
Dead
And we watch from our silent seat
The flickering
Of light
And life
And death
And tv.
poem by Michael Kurcina šø@perryyee
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